


A Side of Bro

by secondhandact



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fantasizing, Incest, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/pseuds/secondhandact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There is nothing hotter than making yourself beg.</i><br/> </p><p>  <i>Unless it's Bro making you beg. But that'll never happen.</i></p><p>  <i>Right?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Side of Bro

Your favorite part of jacking off has always been the personal foreplay, the buildup of tension that comes with idle touches, forcing yourself to hold off until you can’t take it anymore and you have to do something about it or you’ll scream. 

Since screaming isn’t an option, you’ve never lasted more than thirty minutes before you make a mess of yourself, because silence is key in the house of Strider; otherwise, Bro might come busting through your door to check and make sure you aren’t suffocating under the weight of your own hormones. The idea of him laughing at finding you in a humiliating position is enough to keep you quiet and patient, most days. Today, though, Bro’s gone: off on a job interview or a djing gig, you aren't sure what, just _something_. Point is, he won’t be home for hours, you’re sure of it, and you are not going to squander this opportunity.

Your stereo system is grinding out the usual shitty trap music you keep jammed in the disc drive, you've got the computer monitor flashing trashy videos in high-definition and you’re sprawled on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and an old wifebeater, your shades forgotten on the nightstand and eyes only half-focused on the porn you’ve chosen. Today, your flavor is dick-filled threesomes, and the guy in the middle of this particular meat-party is a mouthy fucker with piercings in all sorts of interesting places. The first time he moans ‘Oh, yeah, fuck me,’ is also the first time today that your fingers go skittering over your chest, skimming over your taut nipples and then easing lower, to rub gently over your abs. You’re proud of those. you worked damn hard to develop the start of your six-pack and you take a second to trace the definition of muscle through the fabric of your shirt. The sensation—if you distance yourself, if you focus on the feeling alone—is enough to make you sigh, your own caress light and almost tickling, raising goosebumps on your arms and making you shiver.

The porn on-screen is just something to point your eyes at at this point, and you catch your lower lip between your teeth when your fingers snag on the hem of your boxers. They shift over your balls—silk, because you'll be damned if anyone stops you from spoiling yourself—and your breath sticks in your throat, one hand reaching to cup them through the fabric. A squeeze and another sigh, and you arch lazily up into your own touch, teasing yourself without even thinking about it. It’s always better when you fuck with yourself to the point of incoherency. Someday Bro is going to catch you, you’re sure of it; but right now, that doesn't seem like such a bad thing, and for a second your mind wanders in the direction of the rarely-explored incest kinks you’ve dreamed up over the years. Bro’s hand on the back of your head and your face in the pillow. Bro’s fingers on your thighs (and that’s where yours are, sliding over the flesh, and you shift your legs apart legs in response to the brief pressure). And—

The boy on the screen has his mouth full of dick, and you’re tracing your fingers around your own stiffening cock through the boxers. The boy moans and you finally allow one hand under the fabric, thumb pressing against the glans, smearing precum over your swollen head, and _fuck_ that feels good, makes you groan and your eyelids flutter.

It doesn't take long before you're thinking about Bro again, how different leather would feel around your dick, what a contrast that would be to the cool silk and soft skin of your own palm. Gritting your teeth, you dip your free hand under your shirt, finding the hot, hard points of your nipples on your chest, pinching one (you gasp) and then the other (a whimper, this time, hissed out from a closed mouth) while the hand between your legs wanders idly along your hardened shaft. You wonder if Bro would take the time to tease you like this or if he’d cut right to the chase, skip the torture and go for the gold. You'd like to think he wouldn't. You'd like to imagine your brother is better than that, that he would enjoy the foreplay just as much as you do.

When you finally close your fingers around the base of your cock, you can’t help but moan, the hand that had been rubbing idly over your chest now on your stomach, skating towards your thighs. Your eyes are closed at this point, the porn just background noise to the scenarios you’re playing out in your head. Fantasies that can never come true: your Bro pressing his palms on your thighs and forcing them apart. His tongue on your shaft, his mouth wrapped around you. You imagine he’d suck cock slowly, dragging noises from you with his tongue until you beg.

There’s lube on the nightstand, and you grope hungrily for it, wishing (not for the first time) that you’d snuck one of his gloves away. The man’s got roughly five billion pairs, surely he wouldn’t miss one, and you’re aching to know what that coarse leather would feel like against your sensitive skin. The thought alone is enough to make you groan.

No leather, though; so you settle for getting creative with your overactive imagination. With a frustrated sound, you roll over, ass jutting into the air, pulling your boxers down and exposing yourself to nothing in a mimicry of the fantasy playing out in your mind. Bro’s fingers between your cheeks (where yours are now), lube smeared over your puckered entrance. It’s cold, and you suck a breath between your teeth. The plug that had been situated next to the lube rolls just beyond your roving fingers, and you swear at it, nearly punching the table in desperation, because there’s something decidedly decadent about being on your hands and knees on the bed, hips in the air and swaying. It rolls within reach and you snatch it, covering the black silicone with lube, the liquid dripping to the bed in your haste.

It isn’t the first time you’ve slid the slim toy into you, and you take the time to circle the hard tip around the ring of muscle in your backside before easing it into you. Halfway in you pause, sliding it back out, your free hand clutched into a fist in front of you, your breath coming in uneven, unnaturally loud pants. When you—finally!—force it all the way in, a moan stutters out of you. “F-Fuck.” You roll your hips against nothing, your cock bobbing between your legs, precum glistening at the tip, the hand clutching the plug easing it forward and back at a lazy, steady rhythm. It’s not as thick as your Bro (you’re sure; he's gotta be hung) but it’ll have to do. “Nnngh, _fuck_...”

For a few moments, you’re torn, because as badly as you want to touch yourself, it feels good to fuck yourself, and the additional stimulation would be too much right now. You angle the toy so that each motion makes it rub against your sweet spot, which sends thrills of almost unbearable pleasure humming through you. You’re pretty sure Bro would have the forethought to fuck you thoroughly, to make sure that he hit all the right places with every single thrust, and the mere idea of him filling you in place of this inadequate plug is enough to make you whine. You almost wish that he’d come home right now, catch you like this. In your mind, he pulls the toy from your ass and replaces it with his dick. In your mind, his cock is thick and huge and almost too much, in your mind he—

The door opens with his name on your lips.

There is a moment where you’re motionless, where everything is deathly still, the rambunctious sounds of porn seeming suddenly absurd and making your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You don’t dare open your eyes. You don’t dare _move._

Fuck, you're so turned on that you might die from it.

You can hear him cross the room to your computer, and the porn shuts off, bringing sudden silence. Jesus, why won’t he _say anything_. You can’t. The idea of speech is out of the question. You’re sure he heard you keening his name, you’re sure he knows that you were dreaming about him while you fucked yourself, and fuck, you want it, you hate yourself for wanting it, you’re sure he’s gonna think you’re a freak—

The weight of him on the bed is so unexpected that it takes your breath away. He’s touching you. His hand is on your ass and _oh god he’s touching the plug and_ —

It’s a thousand times better when he’s the one making it move, and you groan, fingers curling into the pillow under your cheek. When he speaks, you sink your teeth into the pillow, stifling any noise you might have made. “‘Fuck me, Bro’, huh?” 

_How the fuck is he so calm._ He almost sounds amused, like your awkward desire for him is funny, and you both hate him and love him for it all at once. You open your mouth to offer some sort of explanation, and he slides the plug into you with enough force to rock your body forward. Any words you might have managed are lost in a hungry moan. He chuckles. “Didn’t know you were into this sort of thing, little man.”

You’re panting for breath while he’s laughing at you and you don’t give two shits. “Bet there’s a lot of shit you don’t know about me,” you manage, and he swats your ass. 

“Impudent little fuck.” 

You don’t argue, because you can’t. It’s still sinking in that your Bro is behind you, your Bro is— _fuck_ —pulling the plug out of your ass, leaving you empty and wanting. The head of his cock is where the plug was in less than a minute, and the pressure of it is so fucking wonderful that you arch back against him. “Please,” you beg, no longer caring if you sound desperate (because let’s face it, you are at this point) and he chuckles again.

“Please what.” He’s got a hand between your legs now, and the first touch of leather to your shaft is almost enough to make you come on the spot. You’re so hard it hurts, and it’s taking every last bit of restraint you’ve got not to just fuck yourself raw against the palm of his hand. 

“Please _fuck me_ , you goddamn asshole, oh my god, nobody’s paying you extra to be a jerk, _please Bro I fucking **need it**_ —”

Then there are no more words because he’s inside you, and he’s every bit as thick and hard as you imagined he’d be, stretching your hole so wide that you can't help but cry out. The sound of Bro catching his breath as his hips hit yours is the most arousing thing you’ve ever heard, and you arch back against him, biting down even harder on the pillow. You can’t think, and if he touched you right now you’d explode. It’s like he knows it, because his hands aren't between your leg and you were right, he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, he’s shifting so that with each long, hard stroke the head of his cock is scraping over your prostate and if he keeps it up you’re going to get off just on that, on the feel of him filling you, stretching you. Claiming you.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck_ —”

“You mouthy little asshole, I'm gonna—”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t you fucking stop, _ohmygod_ —”

There’s a hand over your mouth and a finger between your lips and you suck hungrily at it. His other hand is finally around your shaft and the combination of sensations is too much, _too fucking much_ , and you’re sobbing around his fingers, gasping and lapping sloppily at them. He’s fucking you harder, faster, the wet sound of hips against hips echoing in your tiny bedroom, and when he fists his hand in your hair you damn near howl. You find the pinnacle of your pleasure and you let it take you, stars exploding behind your eyes and you’re vaguely aware that he’s groaning your name while you keen his. He’s amazing and he’s all there is, blotting out all you've ever thought of and all you've ever felt. You can’t breathe, your pleasure coming in thick waves, pulsing through you, sweeping you up and nothing, _nothing_ matters except Bro, Bro inside you, Bro touching you. Bro. You’ve never come this hard in your life, and you’re dizzy and lightheaded and floating. The entire world is your brother, his cock in your ass and his hand in your hair and leather wrapped around your dick.

You have no idea how much time has passed when your eyes flutter open. Bro is nowhere to be seen. 

Panicking, you stumble from your room, your boxers lost somewhere between the bed and the door, and you find him sprawled on the couch, playing video games like nothing happened. You stare at him, trying to keep your jaw from hanging open. He doesn't even look up. “Feel better?” 

“Fuck you,” you growl at him, and he smirks, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Anytime, kid.”

That’s all he offers you as you make your way to the bathroom. You’re sore and aching, and you wish you could kick his ass, but you know that there's no hope of that. You wonder what this new development will mean for your weird relationship, and decide it's probably best not to think about that right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Another repost. Apologies for anyone who gets confused by these reposts. I'm basically the worst.


End file.
